12

“Why are we not prepared for this?” Drayton asked. He was running around in a tizzy, an antique majolica blueberry teapot clutched in one hand, a box of white tapers in the other.

“Calm down, Drayton,” Theodosia said as she surveyed the Indigo Tea Shop. “We’ve got time. We’ll get it all done.” She draped a long, black Parisian waiter’s apron over her T-shirt and slacks and tied it in back.

“It’s Wednesday morning,” Drayton said. “Our Duchess of Devonshire Tea is scheduled to go off at twelve o’clock sharp. We have a million details to finalize and my floral bouquets still haven’t arrived.” This was all delivered with a certain tone.

“Did you call Floradora?” They were Drayton’s favored florist and usually quite dependable.

“I called but they didn’t answer. Which is why I left a very stern message.”

“Good for you, Drayton,” Haley said as she buzzed by. “That’ll light a fire under them.”

“If only we didn’t have to contend with morning tea,” Drayton fussed.

“Well, we do,” Theodosia said. “We always do. So try to deal with it.”

Drayton began fumbling candles into the half-dozen pewter candlesticks that he’d set out. “Maybe we’ll get lucky,” he said in a low voice. “And only a few people will drop by.”

Theodosia snapped on her lighter and followed him around each table, lighting candles. “I’m right here, you know. I can hear you muttering.”

•   •   •

Brooke was the first person to show up that morning. She poked her head into the tea shop and called out, “Are you folks open yet?”

“We are for you,” Theodosia said, hustling over to give her a welcoming hug. Then she held her friend at arm’s length and said, “Say, now, you’re looking a little better today. You seem a little more upbeat.”

“I’m feeling somewhat better,” Brooke said. She was dressed in a fitted navy blazer and khaki slacks and looked a little like a real estate agent. It was a far cry from her usual silk tops and elegant slacks. “I think I’m starting to get a handle on things.”

“Good for you.”

“What I did was call up my accounting firm and have them put one of their people on this. You know, dealing with the insurance companies, getting the necessary police reports together.”

“You’re smart to outsource those things,” Theodosia said.

Brooke gave a faint smile. “Like I did with you?”

“Well . . . I haven’t accomplished all that much yet.”

“You know I have the utmost faith in you, Theo.”

“I’ll try to live up to that.” Theodosia drew a breath. “And I was wondering . . . is there going to be a funeral service for Kaitlin?”

Brooke’s expression changed and she suddenly looked drawn and tired again. “Yes, but not until next week. Bullocks Funeral Home is shipping her body back home to her folks in Greenville. But I was wondering if we should have some sort of memorial service for her here.” She blinked back tears. “What do you think?”

“That sounds like a lovely idea. I think we all want to say our good-byes.” Theodosia touched Brooke’s arm gently. “Would you like to sit down and relax? Maybe have a cup of tea?”

“I really should get back,” Brooke said. “There’s so dang much going on.”

Theodosia smiled. “Takeout, then?”

“That would be wonderful. Fortifying even.”

When Drayton saw Theodosia and Brooke at the front counter, he hurried over to help. “What can I brew for you?” he asked Brooke. “Perhaps a nice pot of oolong? Or some tasty rose hips?”

“I really enjoyed that stronger, slightly smoky tea you were serving here last week.”

“The gunpowder green,” Drayton said. “One pot coming right up.”

Theodosia raided the kitchen and grabbed a half-dozen lemon scones for Brooke to take back with her. And by the time she’d done that, Drayton was pouring steaming hot tea into take-out cups and snapping on lids. Then he packaged up everything in an indigo-blue bag and handed it to Brooke.

“Thank you,” Brooke said to Drayton. Then she gazed meaningfully at Theodosia. “And thank you for everything.”

Theodosia walked Brooke to the door. “I haven’t figured things out quite yet,” she said. “But I am working on a couple of different angles.”

“I know you are. And so is Detective Tidwell. He’s looking into the man who supposedly crashed my event.”

Theodosia’s brows shot up. “He told you about Professor Shepley?”

“Just this morning,” Brooke said. “Says he’s going to meet with him today and ask some tough questions.”

“Good.”

“Tidwell’s been wonderful so far,” Brooke said. “Very cooperative about keeping me in the loop on the investigation, but not pressuring me or making me feel overwhelmed.” She gave a sad smile. “Who would have thought a big, brusque man like that could be filled with such kindness?”

Who indeed? Theodosia thought to herself.

•   •   •

Drayton got his wish. The Indigo Tea Shop wasn’t as crowded as usual that morning. Maybe it was the cool weather settling in, or maybe it was Drayton’s prickly vibrations projecting into the earth’s atmosphere. So when eleven o’clock rolled around and most of the customers who’d stopped by for morning tea and scones had finally departed, he set to work like a fiend.

Tables were cleared and wiped clean, and then elegant white linens draped over them. Drayton pulled out a set of Staffordshire blue-and-white china in the Biddulph Castle pattern and placed the dishes and teacups carefully. Cloth napkins were folded and tucked beneath sterling Birks Saxon flatware, silver salt and pepper shakers were added. Drayton had also brought along a few Toby mugs from his small collection, so those went on the tables to add to his British theme.

Theodosia came over to inspect his work. “Your tables look lovely.”

“But my flowers still aren’t here.”

“Oh yes, they are,” said a voice. An enormous bouquet of tea roses, nasturtium, and heather was slowly advancing toward him.

Drayton peered at the flowers quizzically. “Haley, is that you behind all those blossoms and blooms?”

“It’s me, all right,” Haley called back. “Take these, Drayton, will you? Before I lose my grip and drop this whole thing.”

He grabbed for the box of flowers. “Thank goodness they arrived.”

“I think they’ve been here all along,” Haley said. “There was this ginormous box of flowers just sitting out in the back alley. The florist must have delivered them, then dashed off. Like some kind of reverse trick or treat.”

Drayton pursed his lips. “Just sitting there for anyone to steal.”

“But nobody did,” Theodosia said, grabbing a vase. “Here, let’s just get these flowers into vases and onto the tables. And leave it at that.”

They arranged the flowers, set the candles just so, and then stood back to admire their work.

Drayton held up a finger. “Place cards. We need to put out the place cards and favors.”

Since they had taken advance reservations for their Duchess of Devonshire Tea, they knew exactly who was coming. Which meant Drayton had painstakingly written out everyone’s name in a graceful calligraphic script.

“What did you come up with for favors?” Haley asked.

Drayton carried a cardboard box to the table. “I’ve got tea sachets and wands of French lavender.”

“Let’s talk menu,” Theodosia said. “You two have been fairly secretive about what we’re going to serve.”

Haley pulled out an index card. “We didn’t mean to be, but we were kind of fine-tuning things.” She handed the card to Drayton. “Here, you read it to her.” She spun away. “I’ve still got a ton of work to do.”

Drayton put on a pair of tortoiseshell half-glasses and read: “First course, cranberry cream scones with Devonshire cream.”

“Love it,” Theodosia said.

“For our luncheon course, a prosciutto and fig butter tea sandwich and a smoked salmon and avocado on rye sandwich served with a citrus salad.”

“Okay,” Theodosia said. “Sounds good.”

Drayton continued. “The scones and tea sandwiches will all be accompanied by our Lady London Ceylon tea. And our desserts will consist of English madeleines and shortbread squares topped with fresh strawberries. This will be accompanied by a vanilla chai.”

“The menu is great,” Theodosia said. “And the tea pairings are quite inspired.”

“Thank you.” Drayton smiled contentedly. “I thought so, too.”

“Now I have a question.”

“About the tea?”

“Not exactly. Have you ever heard of a Professor Warren Shepley?”

Drayton shook his head. “I don’t think so. Why? Who is he?”

“He’s a professor of Russian literature at Savannah State University. He also crashed Brooke’s event on Sunday night.”

Drayton looked puzzled. “Now, why would he do that?”

Theodosia narrowed her eyes. “That’s precisely what we need to find out.”

•   •   •

When the big hand and the little hand both hit twelve, the front door burst open and all their guests began to pile in. Hugs and air kisses were hastily exchanged, and then a mad scramble ensued to see who was sitting at what table.

Delaine showed up with a surprise guest, so an extra place setting had to be squeezed in at the last minute. Then Lionel Rinicker showed up with Grace Dawson on his arm.

Theodosia hadn’t even realized that Rinicker had reserved two seats, but she made up her mind to treat him like she would anyone else. That is, anyone else who could possibly be an international jewel thief on the run.

But as everyone settled in their chairs, and Theodosia and Drayton circled the tables with steaming hot teapots, Rinicker proved to be mellow and downright chatty.

“You’ll never guess who showed up to talk to me yesterday,” Rinicker said to Theodosia, a twinkle in his eye.

She knew darned well who’d shown up. A couple of special agents in charge. Steely-eyed guys in narrow ties. But she played it cool. Underplayed it, in fact.

“Tell me,” Theodosia said. “Was it one of your European friends?”

Rinicker chortled heartily, then poked Grace in the ribs. “You think we should tell her?”

Grace laughed merrily. “I think you should definitely tell her.”

Rinicker plucked at Theodosia’s sleeve and pulled her closer. “The FBI,” he said in a stage whisper. He chuckled again and said, “Can you believe it? Actual federal agents. Talking to me.”

Theodosia could believe it. “What on earth did they want?” she asked, acting surprised yet knowing this conversation was veering into awfully strange territory.

“They wanted to quiz me about that robbery the other night,” Rinicker said. He pointed at her. “The one at the jewelry store. The one you were right in the middle of, according to Drayton.”

“The one where Brooke’s niece was killed,” Theodosia said, practically biting off her words.

“That’s the one,” Rinicker said. “It seems those FBI agents had me confused with some crazy jewel thief who robbed a shop in Cannes, in the south of France. Said I looked just like him.”

“Isn’t that the craziest thing?” Grace giggled. “We were just pulling my boat in from a run around the harbor, and there they were, standing on the dock, looking very grim.”

“Amazing,” Theodosia said. She switched her gaze to Rinicker. “But it wasn’t you?”

“Of course not,” Rinicker said. He gave his chest a hearty thump. “Can you imagine me masterminding some kind of daring heist?”

Yes, maybe I can.

“It does seem preposterous,” Theodosia said.

•   •   •

With their guests enjoying the second course, consisting of tea sandwiches and citrus salad, Drayton clinked a knife against a water glass to gain everyone’s attention. As soon as the conversation dropped to a low hum, he stepped to the center of the room.

“Welcome to our first ever Duchess of Devonshire Tea,” he said. “As some of you history buffs are probably aware, there really was a duchess and she really did hail from Devonshire.”

That brought a spate of polite laughter.

“In fact,” Drayton continued, “this illustrious duchess that we celebrate today was the first wife of William Cavendish, fifth Duke of Devonshire. Her father was John Spencer, first Earl Spencer, which made her the great-great-great-great-aunt of Diana, Princess of Wales.”

There was a spatter of applause and someone called out, “Wonderful pedigree.”

“The Duchess of Devonshire attained a large amount of fame during her lifetime,” Drayton said. “She was notorious for her catastrophic love affairs and her love of gambling.” He stopped and smiled. “But she also had a softer side. Our dear duchess was also a socialite who gathered a large salon of literary and political figures around her, and she was one of the earliest campaigners for women’s rights.”

“Hear! Hear!” Delaine said.

“And then, of course, there’s the Devonshire cream.” Drayton smiled at Theodosia. “Theo?”

Now Theodosia stepped into the spotlight. “Devonshire cream, which is sometimes called clotted cream, is a thick cream made by heating fresh milk using a steam process, then allowing it to cool very slowly. During this cooling period, the cream content rises to the surface and forms ‘clots.’ This type of cream production is thought to have originated in the county of Devon, or Devonshire, where our illustrious duke and duchess resided.” She smiled. “And while we didn’t milk the cows or build up a head of steam, I can assure you that the Devonshire cream you’re enjoying today is highly authentic.”

There was a final spate of applause, and then Grace Dawson plucked at Theodosia’s sleeve and said, “My goodness, that was so interesting.”

The luncheon continued with lots more friendly banter, and Theodosia and Drayton were kept hopping. Pretty much everyone wanted seconds on scones, and they were definitely impressed with Drayton’s own version of thick, rich Devonshire cream. In fact, halfway through the luncheon, Theodosia was forced to retreat to her office to quickly print out two dozen copies of his recipe.

When the luncheon finally drew to a close and guests began to wander about the tea shop, selecting tins of tea and perusing scone mixes and grapevine wreaths, Theodosia looked around for Lionel Rinicker. She found him deep in conversation with Drayton. Grace was listening in.

“I tell you,” Rinicker was saying, “Timothy is worried sick.”

“Worried about what?” Theodosia asked, trying her best to look innocent.

“He’s convinced a gang of crazy thugs are going to come storming into the Heritage Society’s show and steal every precious object in sight,” Rinicker said.

Drayton stared pointedly at Theodosia. “I wonder where he got that idea?”

Theodosia winced.

“And you know what I told him?” Rinicker continued.

“I can’t imagine,” Theodosia said.

“I told him it could happen,” Rinicker said. “I said that if it happened at a local jewelry shop, it could certainly happen at an exhibition where a priceless Fabergé egg is being showcased.” Almost as an aside to Grace, he said, “Smash-and-grabs are practically de rigueur all over Europe. And they’re gaining in popularity here.”

Grace touched a hand to her throat and looked pained. “Are you serious?” Then, before anyone could answer, she added, “Do you really think it could happen again?”

Rinicker bobbed his head, looking almost happy. “Absolutely, I do.”